


An Unhealthy Obsession: Greg

by TangerineDT



Series: An Unhealthy Obsession [1]
Category: Dialtown: Phone Dating Sim (Visual Novel)
Genre: Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Murder, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25085425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TangerineDT/pseuds/TangerineDT
Summary: What began as a simple fanfic, is now unraveling to be something bigger.
Relationships: Greg/Franklin (Dialtown)
Series: An Unhealthy Obsession [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871806
Comments: 10
Kudos: 14





	1. The Fall

“C'mon' man, can’t we just go home?” I said, pulling back against Craig’s grip on my wrist.

“No, you need to learn to be fine with socializing around other people besides me all the time. Being this clingy isn’t going to get you far, dear brother.” He was practically dragging me at this point toward one of the many dance clubs that Dialtown has to offer. This one in particular seemed to be almost at max capacity judging by the amount of cars and scooters occupying the parking lot and sidewalks. As we got closer, the bouncer seemed to recognize Craig and shoved the door open wide.

“Welcome back, sir.” The bouncer looked like he could crush me with just a single finger, smash my head to tiny glass shards even. Maybe if I looked threatening enough, he actually would and I wouldn’t have to go in. I flex what muscles I have and try to threaten him, but all that comes out of my mouth is a feeble growl that sounds like someone trying to sing with a wad of melted cheese stuck in their throat. He looks at me, then to Craig.

“He is with you?” Craig nods, looking at me like I’ve lost what sanity I had left, then back to the bouncer.

“No worries, Markus, my patron here is quite new to the experience.” Craig then tugs at my arm again, and I reluctantly follow him inside. We walk along a dark hallway for what seems like an eternity until we come upon a large open room accompanied by flashing lights and loud music. You can’t even see how big the room really is because of all the smoke in the air and on the floor. Hundreds of people flooded the floor and upper landings of the building, all moving either to the music or just to their own mental waves of thought. That was when I noticed that Craig was no longer holding onto my wrist, but disappearing into the crowd of bodies, waving at me.

“Ta ta!” He said before slipping past a guy who had adorned his plastic phone mold with stickers of cupcakes.

“H-Hey!! Get back here! Don’t leave me all… alone.” Even as Craig’s light glow faded into the smoke, it seemed that nobody even noticed my cry for help, the party just kept going on as what I would assume to be normal. Standing here, I could feel the vibrations of the song resonating within the somewhat thin floor, and begin to slowly nod my head, more comfortable knowing that nobody was paying any attention to me. I close my ‘eyes’ for a second, just trying to imagine I’m back home, dancing to my own music, then open them again to see a very unnerving sight. Before me was a dark skinned man who was roughly 7’2” and grooving with uncanny movements, only about a few feet from my cramped group of jiving bodies. He sported a shockingly small tank-top for his size and baggy jeans that could almost be classified as hipster. His head, being a tall, black text phone with glowing lime green letter pads, added even more to his height, making him very intimidating. My calm state instantly left, and all I want to do now is leave. I realize I’m staring, but not before he notices. He continues doing his thing, but now with his face fixed on me, an empty stare returning mine. I stumble back a bit before rushing past people, trying desperately now to find my brother. I look around for any sign of a glowing light, but this proves to be a futile effort as I realize almost everyone is wearing some sort of glowing attire. It almost felt serene, a sea of glowing moving creatures making up the lake of neon lights. Then I saw him, surrounded by a group of maybe sixteen people all taking turns drawing on his body, all the way from simple doodles to full on detailed masterpieces. Seeing me, he waves me over.

“Greg! How goes it? I’m planning on departing soon. This place is getting too mellow for my tastes, and I have an enormous headache. What say you?” A few of the people drawing on him glances at me, looking me up and down. Not wanting to know what they are thinking, I respond quickly.

“That is… fine. I would also like to get out of here.” A chill runs down my neck, and I turn around to see the same tall man a ways away, closer now, still staring me down. Craig brushes past me and I follow in quick succession. As the thundering music fades out and the cold night air hits my face, a wave of stress flows over me. Craig walks a short distance, then leans up against the side of the building.

“So, that wasn’t very hard, now was it?” Craig said, pulling out a colorful looking rock.

“I still don’t want to go back. I just feel… so out of place. You always seem to know what to do and when to do it, and I just… am a… what the hell are you doing?” Craig was sniffing the rock relentlessly.

“Being rid’ of this impediment upon my brain.”

“Oh sure, get rid of your problem with another problem. You know, some of us face our problems h-head on like… like…” I became lost for words as the tall man from before walked out of the back door, staring both me and my brother down. He took out what looked like a taser and began charging us. Craig stumbled to a running stance instantly and began to dash the opposite direction, and with fear taking hold of me, I rush after him. It was like time slowed down, the behemoth of a man charging after us like a hungry lion, his footsteps echoing in my head. I didn’t notice until it was too late. A glow stick fell out of Craig’s pocket, and I slipped on it, falling forward and smashing my face into the concrete. Somehow, my entire head didn’t shatter, but instead a large hole had taken its place upon my dome. I tried calling out to him, but my voice was muted from shock. Craig kept running, and running, until he was out of sight. I felt two hands lift me off the ground, my blurred vision showing me the man staring down at me with that blank stare. And then the unexpected happened. He watched Craig run, dropped his taser, and pulled me into an embrace, whispering to me before I blacked out.

“Nobody will hurt you any longer.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The air smelled clean, almost too clean, the scent of bleach lingering from somewhere. I open my ‘eyes’ to realize I am in an unfamiliar place. The room was the size of a small closet, every corner filled with boxes of unorganized articles of clothing, with a small mattress snugly fit into the middle of it all. I rise out of the bed, staggering to my feet when I realize I can’t see out of the left side of my face. Feeling up to it, I discovered that a large bandage was now covering the majority of one side of my glass dome. I reach over to the doorknob, which opens with ease, revealing a small hallway leading in both directions. Not fully knowing what to do, I decide to follow the now stronger scent of bleach. Walking through the dimly lit hallway, it appeared to be underground, cracks showing the peeling plastered walls, it reminded me of my apartment. The trail ended at a simple wooden door that looks as if it had been bashed in a few times over, but the height of the door is what surprised me. It seemed to be built for someone maybe six or even eight feet tall. After opening it, another door is revealed, this time metal. The door, being open ajar already, was easy enough to move, but it had a padlock installed into the center of it. It swung open very slowly and made almost no noise at all, but the room it opened up into was a chilling sight to see.

The floor was rough looking black concrete, and the walls melted up from the floor into a warm grey. A steel operating table occupied the center of the room, multiple shelves lined with bloody rotary phones, typewriters, and a few rare ones like a couple computers and one speaker. Even with all these machines, there was still room on the shelves for multiple more. Meat hooks hung from the back of the room, and near the table was a rack lined with all sorts of knives and scalpels, one spoon hung from a piece of tape stuck to the rack.The stench of bleach was very prominent here, more so from the closet that was also in the room, but I was full up with my investigation. I turn around and make my way through the hallway, climbing up the stairs till I get to another door. Opening this door, I find myself in what appears to be the back of a thrift shop, all sorts of clothing of every kind hanging on hangers and filling up shelves. Walking through, a few people were standing idle, sifting through old shirts and jackets, too busy to really pay any mind to me. Going closer to the front of the store, I saw a section specifically for heads and head parts of all shapes and sizes. Were these the same ones from the basement? Are those…? I quickly make my way to the entrance, only to see him. Behind the counter stood what I now identified to be the seven foot tall man from the rave, and the same one who chased me down and… I don’t remember anything after that. The building seemed to be a bit higher to accommodate his size, for he had plenty of space between him and the ceiling. The black phoned man tore his gaze from the customer he was serving, to me, staring me down for a few seconds before returning to the person purchasing a dark brown carhartt jacket. He finishes dealing with the customer, and then returns his gaze back to me.

“I see that you are awake, and that you might have seen some things down there, judging by how fearful you look right now.” He wasn’t wrong, I was standing there, still as a corpse. “I’m going to give you a choice. Either you forget what you saw and let me help you get back on your feet, or you can just leave, and I won’t help you.” I stood there, appalled that he wasn’t reaching over the counter with his long arms to strangle me or turn me into one of those horrible desk lamps.

“I… what’s the catch? Why should I trust you, you a-attacked me just last night… I think.” I started backing toward the door.

“From what I recall, your brother abandoned you as you had just taken a severe blow to the head. And I know for a fact that you haven't been too lucky on the financial side either.” He crossed his arms, tilting his strange head. Taking the offer into consideration, I make my way back toward the counter.

“Alright… I’ll stay. First off, who are y-you?” I question.

“The name is Franklin, but you can just call me Frank if you prefer. Now, follow me, I’ve got some work for you to do, Greg.”


	2. Tensions of the Highest Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg searches for Craig to give him a piece of his mind.

A week has passed, and in that time Franklin has had me work around his thrift shop, which I now recognize as ‘Spares and Wares’. The store was directly across from my apartment, I just had never gone in because I never could work up the courage to even go anywhere by myself. The store itself was fairly impressive, housing a number of parts and clothing for every kind of style you could imagine. I feel like I know where it all came from, but I don’t dare bring it up with him, afraid I might become another product for his shelves. For that week, I stayed with him in his apartment above the store, watching old movies and getting to know each other better. I've learned that Franklin used to work at one of the old factories that modeled phones and other soon-to-be heads until he decided to quit and start his own little self-run store that sold the same thing, but better somehow, and now with a fashion section. But despite my original fear, I’ve started to grow a fondness for him. Franklin has given me more attention than anyone in my family ever has, and has even been encouraging me to confront Craig about the night before. In these past few days, he has acted as my towering guardian angel, and I think I have the gall now to go to Craig, which is where I’m on the way to right now.

I never remembered the seats of the subway being so uncomfortable, but it makes sense, considering the amount of resources the mayor gives to each part of the city each year. The seats weren’t the most distressing thing in the subway though. A stench of death reeked from the other end of the train car, and looking over, I can make out what looks to be a green…. Man? Woman? Whatever IT is, it looks terrifying with its weird flesh looking phone head. The creature seemed to be having a full on conversation with a man in a red flannel who was also sporting a Fez. I must have been staring, because the green thing looked over at me. It doesn’t help that my head makes me stand out in crowds, but if I were to try and dim my light, Craig said that I could pass out on the spot, and I don’t need anymore cracks in my glass right now.

“HELLO. WHO YOU?” I almost fell out of my seat as the green thing was now right up to my face. Now that it was closer, I could indeed see that their head was stitched together with… something. I don’t want to imagine what it is.

“U-uhm, I, uh… I’m Greg.” The other person accompanying the creature was now standing behind it, staring me down with an aura of hate that I could not pin down. Had I met this person before? I barely go outside. “C-can I help you?” The Fez man spoke up.

“That's a gnarly crack on your crown you got there... you look very familiar.”

“Oh! You p-probably are thinking about my brother… he… uhm…” The green creature was now poking my head, giggling to itself. 

“Hehe, funny light man.” The man with the Fez then introduces himself.

“Heya, Oliver’s the name. Where you headin'?” His head clicked a whirred a bit, the rage emitting from him still as strong as the stench from the green thing. Did Craig do something to him? And if he did, how bad was it… and do I even want to know?

“I’m going downtown to find my brother, I need to talk to him about something...”

“Well, if you do see that prick, give him a good ol’ punch in the jugular for me, will ya’?” Both the green one and I look at Oliver, bewildered. The creature then perks up, waving its hand in the air.

“Oh! Let me do it! I like punching things!” Oliver pauses a moment, seeming to consider this.

“No need to make any more enemies than you already have, Gingi.” The train then stops, and a rush of people shuffle their way in and out. Oliver makes his way to the door, motioning for Gingi to follow. He turns to me before leaving. “Just don’t let him get the better of you, alright?” And then with the sliding shutters of the door closing, the strange duo was gone, and the train returned to its normal buzz of people barking about how bad their jobs are and when the next issue of STRIFE: Magazine was going to be released to the public. The whole interaction left me pondering about my relationship with Craig, and what I should maybe do about it. What I WANT to do is chew him out for running away when his own brother was in danger, but I don’t know if I could actually do that. My words carry no power with them, they fly out and then trail in the swampy marsh that is my own self-doubt. Maybe if every opportunity in the family was more open ended instead of given to Craig on a silver spoon, maybe I would be better off. But he was always more outgoing than me, always took the chances first before I could even consider my options, leaving me in the backwater area that is Uptown Dialtown. I stop my self loathing for a moment to get up and leave the train car before it left for the next station.

Surfacing from the stairwell that led down into the subway, my face was hit with a blanket of smog, making me cough instantly. Downtown is nice, but the air quality is dirt poor from all the factory work that is done around here. Confident that Craig wouldn't be at his dorm during a saturday evening, I start to hit the places that I assume he would be, the first being the bar. Attached to this specific bar was a casino, and since my brother has access to most of the family fortune, he likes to take chunks of it and blow it at either poker or blackjack. I would say that this was a bad idea, but for some reason he has always had extremely good luck when it comes to gambling, having almost doubled the fortune. I had only been to the bar once before when Craig dragged me along on a double blind date. It didn't end well. Walking in I could see the barkeep, Pierre, having a heated argument with what looked like the same customer from a week before who purchased the carhartt. I must have walked in right at the end of it, because Pierre slammed his notepad down, jumped over the counter, and grabbed the flip-phone man by the shoulders,chucking him out the front door. Pierre returned to his post, fixing his suspenders on the way. He looked at me, then to his notepad, then did a double take.

"Well, this day is just full of surprises. I did not expect to see you here ever again after what happened." Pierre picked up a few left over glasses and began to clean them, glancing at me every now and then. I quickly scan the place for any sign of Craig before taking a seat at the counter.

"Please don't remind me of that, it scarred me enough as it is..." He chuckles. "A-Anyway, I only came in here to see if I could find my brother. Have you seen him at all?"

"I have. He came in this morning to opt in for our weekly speed dating event. For what reason, I know not of, but he left a couple hours ago in his usual club attire. Does he owe you money?" Pierre sets the glasses back on the shelf, checking a few things in his notepad. I shake my head, staring down at the countertop.

"No, I just... need to talk with him." Pierre speaks up as I stand and make my way toward the exit.

"Well, just remember, there is always a glass here with your name on it." I wave to him before leaving the bar and walking back out onto the busy streets. There was one place that I could try looking, and that's what most people like Craig call, The Party Barn. They called it this for its lack of rules and questionable patrons, but mainly for the fact it existed in a run down factory that is always on the verge of falling apart. Starting my journey there based on what Craig used to tell me, I head into the industrial district of the city, where the smog was heaviest and masked the scent of fires and weed. A couple of teens shove their way past me, almost causing me to fall over. They looked like they were jacked up on something, and were wearing the most painful clothing, but then again, that just might be my ticket. I break into a full sprint and follow them.

Being inside most of the time doesn’t bode well with sudden physical activity, but my hard labor paid off. They disappeared into a large and seemingly abandoned factory, but I could faintly see multicolored lights flashing out some of the windows now that the sun was going down. Some more people ran past me, heading for the factory, so I decide to follow them in. Nobody went through the front door but instead went around to the side of the building to a basement hatch, the stairs leading down into a football field length room with a few random holes in the ceiling spattered about. The room itself was filled to the brim with multicolored spotlights, speakers lining every wall, fog machines near the back, and enough concessions to feed the whole city for a few days. There was a DJ who had his setup protected with a wire mesh fence to stop any drunkards from messing with his equipment, complete with a ludicrously large dance floor. The place was so big and colorful, that finding Craig from just looking for his light would be nearly impossible, and plus, I’m not even fairly confident that he IS here. He could be getting smashed at so many other locations, but seeing this as one of the biggest, it was worth a shot. 

I step into the masses, with more people filing in behind me, pushing me farther in. I try to ignore everyone and keep my composure as I begin the search for my brother. Trying to navigate through the building was very hard with over a hundred bodies blocking every point of view, my only waypoints being the placement of everything on the ceiling and the sound of the music. For a second I thought I saw him, but that realization was cut short from a typewriter with neon sprayed keys pulling me aside onto the dance floor. Apparently this behavior was normal here as I see other people randomly get picked out from the crowd to be somebody's dance partner. The typewriter extended her hand toward me as a new song started to play, and not knowing fully what to do, I slowly reach over and take it, my bulb brightening a little bit as my face gets hot. She then pulls me into the most adrenaline induced dance fit I have ever seen or even been apart of, guiding me with every movement and bobbing down to every beat that hit our ‘ears’. I get lost in this sudden encounter, forgetting completely about the reason I came here. The song then ended and she kissed me quickly, skipping off to some other part of the building. I stand still for a few moments, completely perplexed as to what just happened, until I realize how hot it is in the building. I see a table lined with cans and bowls of liquid and make a beeline for it, opening a can and downing it, sweat running down my arms as I look around. Still no sign of Craig. Feeling still a bit heated, I down about three more cans. The drinks tasted sweet, like a soda, but has a strange aftertaste that is akin to licorice. 

I leave the table, making my way through more of the crowd, the lights starting to meld together and the masses of people seeming closer than they were. I see a light up ahead of me that stands out among all the other filtered beams, and I begin to march right toward it. I emerge from a cluster of jocks arguing about which version of orange soda is better than the other to see what I’ve been looking for. Craig was sitting at a table with a few other people playing cards, the pot being a mix of cash and strangely colored rocks. I clear my voice, about to speak up when one of the jocks starts a fight among others, their skirmish resulting in one of them being pushed back, knocking me over and onto the ground. I hit my head hard, causing yet another crack in my glass. The room starts spinning as I feel someone lift me up to my feet.

“Greg? Greg you good? Say something you welch!” I shake my head to see Craig holding me by the shoulders, yelling in my face. He seemed to be saying other things, but I couldn’t quite pick it all up. He shook me a bit more, but I just stared at his face. Why was it only now he cared about my well being? Was he trying to put on a show for all his so-called friends? I still couldn’t decipher the sounds coming from him, everything was turning into a low hum, a mask of white noise filling my head, aggravating me even more. He shook me once again, and what happened after that happened so fast I didn’t have time to think. I push Craig back and deliver a punch straight to his glass dome. A large crack formed around the spot I hit, and he fell back as the table finished the job of shattering his dome. With the dome gone, he hits the ground with his unsheltered bulb, a small crack appearing in the fragile glass. The room spun and the humming got louder, an unbearable migraine taking hold of my head. I run away, out of the building, and into the cold night.


	3. Shards of Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg converses with Franklin.

The streets that were paved for the factory district were all over the place and made no sense at all if you didn’t already know the routes by heart. I slow down my pace, but continue forward, hoping to find somewhere to rest that is not in the open. Feeling up to my head, a sharp pain causes me to yelp in surprise as I see that my hand is now bleeding. I check myself for any other wounds when I notice all the broken glass on my shoulders, realizing that my dome was cracked open this time, my wires exposed to the air. A wave of nausea hits me and the world around me spins, bending in ways it shouldn’t bend, the need to throw up rising in me but my headache preventing me from doing so. I stumble into an alley to hopefully find somewhere to rest, but instead walk in on a group of about three men laughing and drinking together. They notice me instantly because of the bright light walking toward them, and avert their attention from each other to me. I try to walk past them, but one puts a hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place.

“And just where do you think you’re going? C’mon buddy, empty your pockets.” One of them asks with a slight threatening edge in his voice. The group consisted of two phones and a computer, all of which looked like they could take me out with one swing. I raise a bloody hand, about to speak when the world spins again, whatever I consumed at the party leaving me through the nutrient hatch on my head base. They reel back in disgust, the one who demanded something of me pushing me back. I fall over, barely managing to soften my impact with my arm before my head did. I try to crawl away, their voices becoming jumbled together, a hum that I could not decipher with the orchestra of pain and noise that filled my head. The sound of a gunshot fills the air and I curl up into a ball, covering my head with my hands, causing them to become even more scratched up. Screams join in on the band of noise, along with the cracking of bones. I scream as someone picks me up, my scream inaudible to my own ‘ears’, the pain becoming so great that my vision begins to fade until I slip into a pleasant sleep.

. . .

My ‘eyes’ open to the sun showing through blinds that are not my own. My hands, now wrapped in bandages, glide across sheets that give off a familiar scent. I sit up and examine the room, there being a large shelf taking up most of the space on one wall, filled to the brim with old records and a record player displayed on the center shelf. On another side of the room is a desk, littered with what looks like old bills and newspaper clippings, a diagram of generic rotary phone anatomy on the wall above it. Other than a few minor notable mentions, those being a large box TV and a dusty ceiling fan, the room was generally a bit messy. I get up and make my way to the door, the smell of cooked eggs greeting me as I neared it. Opening the door, I recognize the living room from the past week of hanging around Franklin's apartment, the large leather couch taking center stage as an even bigger box TV than before fit snug up against the wall, partially covering the window. Behind the couch was a small kitchen with a shockingly large amount of counter space, and despite the rugged look of the rest of the place, the kitchen was rather clean compared to it all. Down a short hallway was the bathroom and a small closet, but the smell of eggs was coming from the living room, and entering the living space a bit more, I see Franklin sprawled out on the couch, flipping through channels while eating an unusually large plate of eggs and cheese. He notices me walk in and sits upright, making space for me on the couch.

"You sleep okay? You were barely conscious when I found you last night." I hesitate for a moment, but decide to sit down next to him, sinking into the leather exterior. I don't remember much from last night, so I nod, feeling up to my dome, discovering more bandages than before.

“W-what happened?” I ask, not sure if I even wanted the answer. Franklin shovels another forkful of eggs into his nutrient hatch, hunched forward.

“I was in the area, and I had seen you had gotten into a bit of a mess there. So, I gave you a more favorable outcome.” He stares on ahead at the screen, giving me a brief glance. I barely remember what happened after I left the factory, everything just ended in a headache for me. I relax a bit more, convinced that if he really wanted to do something to me, he would have done so already, or at any point in time during the last week. Franklin saw something in me that no one else had, and has held onto that with an iron grip. But then my mind drifts back to the basement, and I decide to finally ask him.

“Franklin, I… I’ve been meaning to ask. What exactly do you do f-for a living?.” I expected him to lash out, but instead he leans back and rests his arms on the back of the couch, smiling.

“I perform what I consider to be a type of art, and then sell what I can to the general public. Need I go into deeper detail?” The confused look on my face must have been enough, because he kept talking. “You see, this town has been going down a dark path for awhile now. She’s gotten dirty from all the scum that's washed up at her feet, so I decided to help both myself and her with my… practices. Ya catch my drift? Not all bacteria is bad, but the world would be fine if it was rid of some.” I nodded, feeling like I understood.

“So you just… snatch people off the street?” I feel as if I should be scared, given the information before me, but I am only filled with curiosity. My posture matches my feeling as I perk up a tad. Franklin cocks his head to the side.

“One does not simply pick a random stranger off the curb, Greg. There is a long process that goes into it. You have to monitor people’s lifestyles, get into their head, know where they go on strolls on Tuesdays, and learn why they stay outside an extra half hour every other Friday. Only then can you truly make that decision. Now, I must inquire, why the sudden interest?” I think about his question, not sure if even I knew the answer. After everything that has happened, maybe I was just looking for some normalcy in a conversation about murder? Or maybe I really have taken a few too many hits to the head.

“I’m not sure. So, what exactly do you do with the people you c-capture?” I ask. Franklin chuckles, a low resonating laugh emitting from deep within his chest.

“I perform my art. I can show you sometime if you really want, but I don’t know if you’d be into that. Blood is such a great medium though.” This takes me aback a bit, and for some reason I wanted to know. I wanted to know what all Franklin does, and how he does it. I don’t want to lose the only friend I have, even if that means dabbling in some very questionable tasks.

“I-I would love to see you work sometime!” Did that sound too eager? This time Franklin was surprised. He even looked a little flushed.

“Really? You want to witness me in my workshop?” I nod my head, happy to see him in a heightened mood. He laughs, but then controls himself. “Well, that will have to wait. In the meantime, why not tell me about yourself. I strangely don’t know much about your personal life, something that is fairly easy to obtain if you have the right connections, but you don’t really have any connections besides your brother. He is a tough one to keep track of, I must say.” He was right. I don’t go out almost at all, and when I do, it is almost always because Craig dragged me somewhere that I did not want to be. The family never kept in contact after I left to be on my own, so then on all ties were cut.

“Well, what do you want to hear about? My life ain't too exciting as it is…” Franklin stared at me for a second, pondering, then stood up and walked over to the kitchen. Now that he was off the couch, I could see that his head was almost barely touching the ceiling. 

“How about your past then? Life as a child?” Franklin pulled out a kettle from a cupboard. “Coffee? Tea?” He asked me, motioning to the kettle. I nod.

“A cup of tea would be nice. My childhood was hard for the most part, living in my brother's shadow and all. I was adopted by one of Dialtown’s richest families at the time when I was three, and raised by a strict set of standards. They lived like they were royalty, and liked to show off whenever they could. At a young age, my brother Craig was shy, and he tried his best to be up to his parents standards, but he clung to me as soon as I joined the family. We were almost inseparable, and I guess that's why to this day he still tries to help me out when he can, but sometimes it feels like he is just doing so for his own benefit…” I go silent for a few seconds, staring at the creases in the leather couch. Franklin glances over at me while he fills the kettle with water, waiting for me to continue. I shake my head and get back to what I was saying.

“Sorry, was spacing out… Anyway, our parents always pushed us to be the best at whatever they wanted us to be at, such as playing the piano or perfecting a certain cooked meal to impress guests. Craig was able to excel at whatever they threw at him, but I was always struggling, always not able to keep up. I got punished for this, whether it be a slap on the wrist, or be stuck reading encyclopedias for the rest of the day. Eventually they gave up on me and dedicated all their efforts into Craig, leaving me to my own devices. I was relieved that I didn’t have to do anything more, but didn’t realize until later that they had just given up all hope for me. It really hurt…” The whistle of the boiling water broke me out of my brooding session. I look up to see Franklin leaning over the counter-window that shown into the living room. He was holding two different tea bags.

“Sorry to interrupt, but would you prefer formosa pearl oolong, or great white grape?” I look up at the two bags of ground herbs and spices, pointing to the great grape. “So it be.” Franklin walks back over to the couch with two mugs of freshly boiled water, the tea bags now dispersing within them, the flavor creeping out into every corner of the cup. He sets them down on the end table, leaning back, waiting for me to continue.

“And, just, ever since I moved out of that almost mansion worthy property that I always knew into some uptown, moldy dump, things went downhill. Craig moved on to attend college while I don’t even know what I want to do. All two of my high school friends cut ties a few months ago, and I’ve been living off of what money Craig sends me. I just… I feel so worthless…” I start to choke up, tears wanting to flow free from my face, but without any proper eyes the heartfelt sadness expresses itself instead vocally, a weak whimper escaping my throat. I lean my defeated body against the side of the couch cushion, a fit of tears that can’t escape filling my head with cries for help. My body shakes with unheard sobs as I feel Franklin reach over and pull me towards him. I don’t resist as he holds me close to his chest, rubbing my back as I break down in his embrace.

“It’s okay… it’s all in the past now.” He says softly, his deep voice resonating within his chest. He stands, picking me up and starts to gently rock me in his arms. This seems childish, but it felt nice to have someone care for me this much. I rested my head against his shoulder, sniffling and shaking as he began to hum a strange but soothing tune. I begin to calm down, and decide to close my ‘eyes’, drifting off into a well deserved slumber knowing I had a caring soul watching over me.

“I'm sorry…” I say, my voice shaky.

“Don’t be.” He says between a pause in his tune.


	4. A Peculiar Painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More story progression.

My vision returns to me, warm light meeting my ‘eyes’, a small lamp being the source. An arm was around my chest, and as I take in my surroundings I see that I’m in Franklin’s bedroom, resting up against his side. He was sitting with his back up against the headboard of the bed, a book in one hand and the other holding me close to him. I shift myself a bit more upright, my head now resting closer to his shoulder. Franklin notices this and sets the book down, looking down at me, a warmness coming from his demeanor..

“How are you feeling?” He asks, his gruff voice bringing joy to my still healing heart.

“I’ll be fine. Uhm… thank you, I really… I’m thankful for your kindness towards me recently. It’s nice to have someone like that…” Letting out a heavy sigh, I notice that Franklin has multiple scars and scratches across his arms and a few near his neck, leading down his chest, the rest being covered by his tank top. There was also many scratches on his head, some of the numbers on his glowing green keypad etched away. I realize I’m staring and avert my gaze.

“Seeing as you have now woken, I am now going to retire to the lower levels to work.” He says as he rises from the bed. I quickly get up as well, staggering a little as I have just woken from a nap.

“Can I watch?” I yell out as he is opening the door. Franklin looks at me for a moment, seeming puzzled still. I feel like a kid, sitting here and asking him so eagerly.

“You… Greg. I really don’t think you want to watch me dissect a human. Why don’t you stay up here and get some more rest?” Glancing out the window, I see now that it was the dead of night. I return my attention to him, my bulb glowing a bit more brightly.

“Please? I promise, I’m not squeamish around that kind of stuff.” I just want to hang around him some more and maybe ask him some more questions. Franklin raises a finger to object, but he pauses, stuttering a little.

“Well… What about... Oh alright, come on. Just be sure to close the doors behind you.” As he steps forward to leave the room, he hits his head on the top of the frame, clutches his head, and then ducks through. Following him, I close the door and see that most of the scuffs on his head are around where he just hit it. Must have trouble walking around with such height. Franklin waits for me to go through the front door, and once I do he locks it and then sticks what looks like a sewing needle into a crack between the door and the frame, for safety measures from what I can gather. He then makes his way down the apartment stairs until we get to the door that goes straight into the thrift shop that he owns. Walking back through the store, I notice something that I hadn't seen the first time I had been here. There, behind the clothing racks and shelves holding what I can only assume to be former citizens' heads is a shelved wall lined with paintings, all from the same artist, judging by the similar style of them all. Every painting was painted in shades of red, the only other colors being that of the canvas. I walk past the isle and continue to follow Franklin over to a door that led down into a basement level. Getting a sense of deja vu, I calm myself, knowing that I was safe. There is no safer place than being within the jaws of danger.

The smell of bleach fills the air once more as I enter again into the room with the large metal door. I shut it behind me, the large door sliding into the frame and stopping with a satisfying click.. Now that I wasn't dazed from waking up inside a closet, I noticed a few more things about the workshop than before. The supposed closet that I had seen a week earlier actually turned out to be a large freezer. My hand almost gets stuck to the door as I lean against it, trying to look through the clouded peephole. The sound of metal scraping against concrete broke my concentrated sleuthing though. Taking a look back to Franklin, he was moving some tables aside and pulling out a worn easel along with a couple buckets of what looks like paint. I make my way over to him.

“What’re you doing?” I ask. He secures a perfectly white canvas to the easel.

“Had a change of mood, not feeling like makin’ money today. There has been a piece I’ve had on my mind for awhile now,” He pops open the lid of one of the cans with a screwdriver, a heavy scent of iron wafting from the can. “and I thought this would be a good time to start it.” I sit down on a chipped wooden chair near him as he opens the rest of the cans, all being slight different shades of red.

“Uhm, upstairs? The paintings, are those all you?” I inquire. He nods, dipping a thin brush into one of the cans.

“I pride myself in the art of the brush, so yes, I did all of those. I make some for personal enjoyment, or to make a quick buck, but I like to only paint with the blood of tyrants and sleazy urchins of society. I prefer to use squid ink to darken the blood, but most times than not it’s out of stock, so I have to use other ‘unnatural’ inks.” Franklin began to put bristle to background, moving across the canvas. I cross my arms and slide down into the chair, trying to find a comfortable position.

“Why… blood? And squid ink of all things?” He snickers to himself, then lets out a hearty laugh.

“I find it ironic. As for the ink, I like the aroma it adds alongside the heavy metal scent.” He raises his brush, pausing for a moment, taking a short look at me before returning to the canvas. “Tell me, what is your drive? What keeps you from staying in bed in the morning?”

“My drive? Like, do you mean… I’m not sure I catch your drift.”

“Come now, is there a thing that you strive to do? Future endeavors?” 

“I don’t know. Right now, all I’ve been doing is hoping that someone will accept me.” Franklin gives me a questioning look. “Like, in a job, sorry that was a little vague…”

“Well, what about as a child? What did you like to do for fun?” It takes me a second to think back, but I ‘smile’ a bit as I remember, my head shining a little brighter.

“Well, when I wasn’t doing the daily training my father put me and my brother through, I was helping Craig with his stage fright. It’s so weird to look back on who he used to be, and then see him in front of all sorts of crowds. But, I did fit a little hobby of my own into my tight schedule.” I shake my head, sighing. “One of the things I was good at was playing the guitar. Dad always had me playing classical, but I took more of a liking to rock and metal. I would sneak out into the woods to play my preferred genre, and later in high school I met a few friends that gathered up with me in the woods to practice.” I start to get choked up, but manage to keep it down. “After I got my diploma and moved out of the family house, they just… stopped talking to me. I still don’t know why…” 

“Do you still play?” Franklin questions.

“No. The ol’ man kept my guitar, and I haven't been able to afford a new one. Been around four years since I last played. I fucking hate my father’s home, but at least I was happier then than I am now.” I pick off a weak chip of wood from the chair and flick it across the room. “Nowadays I’m just mooching off of what Craig can spare me for rent and groceries. I spend whatever's left at the library, the cheapest entertainment I can buy without being dragged around with people I don’t know.”

“I see.” Franklin continues his work, glancing at me from time to time. My ‘eyes’ wander down to the buckets of blood on the floor, and I shiver a bit.

“I know you kinda explained a little bit, but why do you take lives? Don’t you ever think about, like, if you get caught or not? Doesn’t seem very moral…” He laughs again, seemingly taking pleasure in my ignorance to his inner reasonings.

“Listen closely, I don’t do what I do for no reason. And you want to talk about morals? I sure as hell have better morals than your father, for starters. I believe in a world without people that only care for themselves, but one that can flourish while keeping every person's interests in mind. So, my way of reaching that goal is taking each fat cat out of the litter, but y’see not all people with high standing are bad, so I can’t just go about picking from the rich for the poor. I must take out those of all areas who will poison the next generation. That goes for other fools with knives that have no rhyme or reason to their reaping.” Franklin dips his brush into a small tray of water on the ledge of where the easel clasps the canvas before choosing a darker color of blood. “And if I got caught, it would be by somebody else's exchange of words that would throw me under justice’s blind eyes. I do what I do with the utmost of care. In this day and age, there must be much sorrow before happiness, and it would be a shame if that effort would be halted by a whistleblower.” He looks directly at me when he says the last part, sending chills through me. He then returns to his painting.

“H-How long have you been doing this?” I ask, feeling like I hit a nerve with him.

“Eleven years. And I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon. Again, the way I see it, I’m doing this town a favor. Good things to good people may seem insane, but they will see in time.” I guess he has a point, but it still just feels… uncanny to talk about people this way. I rise out of the chair and head to the door.

“Well, I should get back to my place. Need to see if I have any bills I need to immediately pay off…” Franklin sets down his brush, motioning for me to wait.

“I’ll take you back to the room. I want to give you some cash for any hardships down the road anyways.” Franklin walks past me and opens the large metal door once more. “I take it you're going to keep silent?” He asks, holding the door open just enough to where I couldn’t squeeze through.

“I p-promise, your secret is safe with me. People would think of me crazy anyway…” I nervously laugh, and he laughs along with me.

“No need to be so down on yourself.” He opens the door the rest of the way, waiting for me to go through so he can close it. After doing so we walk down the hallway. I see another door that I hadn’t noticed before on the right side of the hallway. It looked worn and beaten, multiple signs of many reinforcements to it showing in old wooden planks and nails loosely hanging out. I was about to walk past it when I heard a high pitched voice come from inside.

“Frankie?! Is that you?” The voice erupted into a fit of giggles after speaking. Franklin stops and turns to me.

“Whatever you do, whether you are here with me or sneaking in here, don’t open that door.” He sighs heavily. A loud rustling of what sounds like leaves comes from inside and the voice speaks once more.

“Hey! Who are you talking to? New person perhaps!? Hi, I’m Rosy!!” It sounded like there was someone clawing the door.

“Who is that?” I ask, stepping away from said door. 

“The witch that I spent a decade of my life with.” Franklin answers. “She’s not normal. She is some kind of… cryptid like creature. I’m still trying to this day wrap my head around what she is. There's more things like her that I’ve seen though. Creepy fucks.”

“Why is she locked in there?” I inquire.

“Trust me, I’m not starving people or making anybody suffer here. I feed her and all, but you must understand, if I let her out, the whole town would be in a blaze.”

“What?!”

“She’s an arsonist. She loves fire way too much. I’ve tried to kill her before but she doesn’t… die and I don’t… ugh, enough questions, please, lets go.” He continues down the hallway, waving me over to follow him. I obey and catch up to him, a batch of giggles and cackling coming from the door. We make our way back through the shop and up into his apartment. Franklin smacks his head again on the way in, cursing to himself as he grabs his wallet from the counter. He then hands me a couple hundred dollar bills.

“Are you s-sure? I don’t really need the m-money…” I say hesitating.

“Please, take it. You don’t have to be selfless when other people are trying to be selfless to you.” I take it, stuffing it in my back pocket, many thoughts buzzing through my head all at once. “Be on your way now. Take care till next we meet.” He nods to me and my face burns brightly, my bulb lighting up above its previous dimness. I run up and hug him, my head only reaching up to just below his shoulders.

“Thank you.” Franklin returns the hug, and after a few seconds, I let go and leave. Exiting the building and onto the street, I look up to the stars and breathe in the cold night air, exhaling heavy thoughts out into the vast nothingness. I cross the street to my apartment complex, grab my mail, and then make my way up the stairs to my unit. I open the door and collapse onto the used couch I found on the side of the street. Flipping through the letters, it was just junk mail except for one. It was from Craig.

Shredding it open, I find a party invitation. The event is going to be held at the Fenton Manor, and Craig wants me to attend a dinner with the family. This was strange, Father would never hold a party of Craig’s caliber unless it was a fancy party. Whatever it is, why did Craig invite me to a family dinner and not Mother or Father…?

The date for it is to be tomorrow night. I close my eyes and get whatever rest I can for what is to come.


	5. Crystal Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of part 1

I jump awake to the sound of a firework that some teenagers probably set off. Rolling onto my side, the clock on the wall comes into focus and drives adrenaline straight into my waking head, the ticking hands reading 4:03PM. Jumping up from the couch, I almost trip over the makeshift coffee table on my way to my bedroom. Before I had left to live on my own, I took a few things with me that were of some value, that being an empty bird cage, a pair of really nice black leather shoes, and a grey three piece suit that I stole from storage that came with a homburg to match. The hat will be helpful to at least be an attempt to hide my bandages and not look like I don’t belong. I search through the colossal mess that is my sleeping space until I find the one clean area where I keep such things as dress shirts as to not let them become wrinkled when I do need them. As I take careful time to lay out and put on the suit, my mind wanders back to the invitation. What if Craig just invited me out of pity? Do my parents know that I’m even coming, seeing as they didn’t invite me themselves, or did they put Craig in charge of inviting and setting up the party that he most likely got set up for his own personal entertainment? It would be nice to visit the mansion again, but I don’t want to cause any discord among the family by just being there. And why would Craig invite me to something right after I almost killed him? It’s good to see that he’s still standing, but it just feels… all too soon. I haven't had much time to process anything in the last few days, let alone the fact that I completely forgot valentine's day was two days ago.

Straightening the bow tie, I stand in front of the mirror and inspect how it looks. I indeed do fit in it, but looking back, it’s quite obvious that I’ve packed on a few pounds since moving out. I shake the thought out and grab a bottle of glass cleaner, touching up my bulb and my base. Rushing to get ready, I haven't thought at all on how I’m going to get there. If I take a cab, I could get there, but I wouldn’t have a ride home. I don’t really know anyone that would be going that I could catch a ride from, other than maybe Franklin. I would be very surprised if he was going, but maybe I could get him to take me. I place the hat upon my head and puff my chest out, posing in the mirror. Giggling a little, I brighten up. There are most likely gonna be some bumps in the night, but I’m gonna enjoy this. I grab the invitation, stuff it into my back pocket, and rush out the door, tripping on a box outside my door, and dashing out into the street. The neon sign for Spares and Wares stands out in the shaded street like a hot air balloon on a cloudless day. Not wanting to waste anymore time than I already have, I march right through the glass doors.

I walk in to see Franklin dealing with the same man who got kicked out of the bar two days ago, and they seem to be in a fairly heated argument. Franklin was holding the man by the shoulder, and by the man’s pained look, Frank had an iron grip.

“Carl, I’m only going to ask you one more time before I beat you senseless for trying to cross me. Hand over the scarf. Now.” Carl, with shaking hands, took a blue and yellow spotted scarf out of his jacket, handing it over. Franklin rips it out of his hands and pushes him toward the exit. “Better think about what you done before coming back here.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself Morris, you and your shit sto-” Franklin starts running at Carl, and Carl books it out of the store, running for his life down the street. Franklin slams the top of his head on the frame of the glass doors in pursuit of Carl and slips backward onto the floor. I step forward to help him up, but he gets up fairly quickly himself, mumbling in a sharp tone. He then turns to me, putting his hands behind his back and standing up straight.

“Sorry for the disruption, sir, I-... wait, Greg? What’s got you all snazzed up?” After recognizing me, Franklin seems to relax a bit.

“Well, I…” I suck in a breath and try to clear my mind of any self doubt I have lingering in the back of my mind. “Would you by any chance be able to give me a ride to and from my family’s home? I don’t have a vehicle, and nor can I drive.” 

“I’m afraid not.” Franklin sighs, glancing at the front entrance in disgust. “It appears I obviously can’t leave the store unattended while I have its doors open. Is there anything else I can help you with while you're here?” He makes his way behind the counter and leans back against the wall, arms crossed.

“No, I either gotta find a ride soon or I’m not going to make it in time.” I tap my foot anxiously, pacing for a short moment before making my way for the exit. “I need to go, I-I’ll talk to you later!”

“Stay safe now.” He says as I rush out of the door, and back onto the streets of uptown. I could take a cab and stay the night at the place, but just the thought of having to wake up and confront anyone from that miserable manor makes me shiver. Hell, I could just go home and forget I even got an invitation, but this feels like a chance to break the awkward shell that I’ve developed over the years. Even more so, I should apologize to Craig and confront him like I had actually wanted to the night before. And who knows, maybe I can snag myself something to pawn off and get my bulb replaced, phone lord knows they don’t need some of the stuff that they have hoarded on their shelves. A few cars pass by me on the road, and in the distance I see a taxi making its way toward me. Not wanting to waste any more time than I already have, I flag it down and it comes to a rickety stop, one side of the car stopped on top of the sidewalk. The man driving the vehicle looks like he's drunk, and the cans of cheap beer in the passenger seat back my theory. He sticks his pistol head out of the driver’s side window and screams.

“BANG” I jump back in terror, yelping in the process. The man starts laughing, pointing to the barrel, which has an orange stopper stuffed into it. “Dun’ worry, Skips! My release order requires that I stay empty and capped like this. Anyhooooo, hop in, I’m paid by the shoes scuffed on my floor mats!” He sits back, laughing hysterically. I hesitate, but my shaking hand reaches over to the backseat door and opens it. I get myself situated inside, making sure not to dirty the suit at all costs. “Where you headin’, Gov’na?” I take a moment to collect myself and remember where it was in the first place.

“To the Fenton Mansion. If you head to Robb street and continue down the winding dirt roads you’ll eventually see it. Can’t miss it, really, it’s in the middle of nowhere.” The driver looks at me through the rear view mirror, nodding.

“That will come up to… lets me sees here…” He stares at the mile gauge for a few seconds then sits up straight. “Ah! It tells me at the end of the ride, that’s right!” He exclaims, laughing more as he steps on the gas and swerves back into the correct lane. He speeds down the road like a maniac, but somehow doesn’t catch the attention of any police. I start to question if he actually is going the right way when he hangs a sharp right and cuts through a park, dirt flying up from the back tires. I scream and cover my head and duck down, expecting to crash at any moment, but after a few minutes, the car stops jaunting every which way and calms itself. I rise up and look out the window at the now shrinking town. I sit back and let out a heavy sigh, still shaking.

“So!” He says a little too loudly, causing me to flinch. “You going to an auction or somethin’? Your getup is just yelling ‘I have money, please pocket me’!” Gargled laughter erupts from his voice as he takes a long swig from yet another can of beer. At least if we were to crash now, it would only be in a ditch, not in the side of a concrete building.

“Heh, I s-suppose. But no, I’m going to a party that my brother is apparently hosting. I don’t even really know why I’m going.” I say.

“What, dun’ like your brother?”

“Well… it’s more so that my whole family is gonna be there, and I don’t think they like me all that much.”

“Come now, surely there is some good fortune waiting for you at this place. Can’t all be bad.” 

“Ha! As if that is gonna be the case.” I say, glancing out through the front windshield, a shiver being shot up my spine as the mansion comes into view. The sun was now almost fully set under the horizon, and with the sky becoming darker with each minute, lights from the manor began to fill up the night.

“Is that it?” The driver seemed to be unsure, as if there were any other mansion sized buildings in the area that could possibly be the one he was looking for.

“Yea, just drop me off at the front, please” He pulls up as close as he can get. Every space of the driveway was taken up by a car to the point where people started parking on the sidewalks and the steps. The driver stops the cab and looks on in awe, then back to me.

“Well, have fun in there for me!” I sit, waiting for him to ask me to pay, but he just sits there and stares. I decide to just leave the cab, and once I do, he slams on the gas and rear ends an expensive looking car, only to back up and start down the dirt road. As he starts to leave, I notice a few syringes sticking out of two of the tires. Poor guy is never gonna make it back to town. Bringing my attention back to the manor, I rush up to the grand front doors only to be greeted by a bouncer sitting back in a lawn chair. He looks me up and down, his kitchen timer head clicking a few times from its inner workings, then waves his hand toward the door. I take this as a welcoming gesture and open the front door, closing it behind me.

As soon as I take my ‘eyes’ away from the door and to the center of the entrance area, my vision is greeted by a multitude of people dressed even fancier than me, sipping from martini glasses and slow dancing under the soft glow of the chandeliers light. Compared to everyone else, it looked like I wore casual to a white tie event, even a performer with a very intricate looking typewriter and tophat was on par with everyone else. Tables were laid out along the sides of the walls, every surface covered with exotic snacks and pastries, bowls of crimson liquid that could either be wine or punch spaced every six feet. While I'm standing at the door awkwardly, a familiar face recognizes me from the crowd and begins to walk toward me. Getting into focus, my bulb brightens as I now recognize this man as my peppy uncle Berry. Berry was always known for being the more eccentric family member, a ray of sunshine among a litter of corrupt businessmen only out for keeping the family name something that is remembered. He was the one who would take me and Craig out to his cabin on whatever days he was not actively growing his hobby of collecting bottle caps. He likes collecting bottle caps so much that he spends every hour that he isn’t working going out and collecting exotic caps, even going as far as flying to other countries to get caps. On his typewriter head, he has some of his most favorite caps cemented to his keys. He sees it as another form of body art, kinda like tattoos. The other family members don’t care for him much, but he has a spot in my heart as one of the few people who treated me as a person and not something that has to be perfected.

“Hey kiddo!” He says in his booming voice, his arms open wide for a hug. I embrace him, then step back. “Glad to see you made it! Some of the other folks had doubts, but I just knew you would pull through! How has life been treating you?”

“It’s been a journey, I can tell you that much,” I say, rubbing the back of my bulb, “but recently… it’s been okay. How has your collection been going?” Berry seemed to brighten up at the mention of it.

“Collecting has been a blast! This past month alone I’ve gotten a hold of a fine collection of beauties, maybe around four hundred? I did get my hands on a bag of em’ that I still need to wash off, so maybe even more than that! But,” He pulls a shiny looking cap out of his coat pocket, “this one in particular is from a fight I got into at an ice cream parlor. A man had walked into the joint with a bottle of what clearly was alcohol, but the cap on the bottle he was sporting was clearly custom made. He was told to leave, but refused, so I saw my chance.” Berry swings his fist through the air for emphasis. “I went up to him, knocked him square in the jaw, then threw him out, taking his beer right after and claiming the cap for my collection.”

“Huh.” I say, amazed that he would deck somebody to get his hands on a bottle cap. “Any other strange encounters like that?” Berry scratches the bottom rim of his head in thought, then snaps his finger.

“There is one other small tale that stands out among the others, you got time to listen?” I look around, shrugging.

“Doesn’t look like I’m needed anywhere else. Go ahead.” Berry’s hands fly around as he begins to delve into his story.

“I was working part time at this bakery, and one of the reasons I did so was because the boss there liked to drink cola in those old glass bottles, y’know? But he only threw the caps away in the trash in his office. He called me into his office one day, and right when he was about to fire me for being a disturbance to my co-workers, I snatched his trash can up into my arms and booked it out of there until I was in the next town!” He staggers back a few steps from laughing so hard, and I follow suit, buckling from laughter. After regaining my stance, I hug Berry once more.

“I should get going now. I need to find Craig, but it was really nice talking to you again! We need to catch up once I find some time later.” 

“Most definitely! Well, don’t let me keep you now.” Berry says, nodding to me. I give him a nod back, then make my way farther into the residence. I have no interest in gossiping with the upper class locals mingling about on the main floor, especially since there was no sign of Craig there anyway, so I head upstairs in hopes of both locating him and avoiding my immediate family. In the right wing of the building there is an indoor pool used mainly for swimming laps to keep up upper body strength in winter or just when someone got sick of the personal gym. This pool also has a few balcony spots that can be accessed from the second floor. Coming across one of these said balconies, I swing open the glass door and take a peek inside. All lights were off except for the underwater flood lights, which were filling the room with a faint blue glow, but no sign of the kind of glow I’m looking for. I turn around to look elsewhere only to be greeted by a creeping Craig.

“Rotary Christ! How long have you been there?!” I scream out, fixing my now crooked hat. Craig stood there wearing a fitted brown tuxedo with a black twin tailed coat, a tie-dye bowtie pinned snugly under his bulb base. The dome protecting his bulb was already replaced, a very small nick on the top of his bulb almost unseeable unless seen up close. He chortles at my sudden surprise.

“Couldn’t have been more than fifteen seconds. What are you even doing up he-” I pull Craig into a hug, emotion overwhelming me. He pauses for a moment, but he returns the hug.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do what I did, I’m just so g-glad you're okay…” I begin to shake from phantom tears flowing out of my nonexistent tear ducts, my grip on Craig tightening. “I was just so mad and I couldn’t control myself and I-” Craig pushes me back gently, his hands on my shoulders. He looks my dead in the ‘eyes’.

“Greg, it’s okay! It’s more been my fault for all this tumult recently. Get yourself together, and when this whole party is over I’ll take you over to Bunny’s, alright? We can talk then.” I nod, feeling a lot better. I was a bit confused though.

“Why can’t we talk now?” Craig looked impatient.

“Well, I came looking for you because supper is about to be served in the dining room, and it’s a family gathering. Was afraid you hadn’t made it, and judging by what you're wearing, the suit I sent hadn’t arrived before you left, did it not?” He motions for me to follow him as he talks. Thinking back, there had been a package for me, but I was in such a rush I hadn’t had time to open it.

“Uh, no it did not.”

“I knew I should have sent it earlier than I did. Oh well.” Following Craig, we make our way back downstairs then to the left wing of the building, where the kitchen and dining room are, as well as our ludicrous amount of canned foods. A black rotary phone dressed as a waiter rushes past us, seemingly in a rush. Coming to a set of large wooden doors, Craig pushes one open, waiting for me to enter before closing it. Entering, I am greeted by the dining room with its long table made from ebony wood, the dim chandeliers and candles setting the perfect lighting among the dark furniture, and the vibrant sound of chattering coming from every living member of the family, save for a few that couldn't make it. 

On Father’s side, everyone was here except for Uncle Joe, most likely due to the group he hangs out with every week to play this weird game with. The grandparents were here, both Edward and Jane, the root of the family’s wealth. Edward has a cash register as his head, taking after his deceased father Ernst. He decided to go into accounting after his wife won him over with her spiel about business that she gives to every family member that will listen. Jane, who has a calculator for her head, is very business oriented when it comes to anything. She is always thinking about expenses, and she dislikes gatherings like these very much. I bet she would faint if she saw how much money went into some of these parties. Then there is our aunt and uncle, Elenore and Bill. Elenore, with her calculator head, is the Big Venison of produce and was married into wealth, resulting in her being able to expand her company. Bill used to work as a concierge for a hotel chain out of state, but moved back to try and be there more for the family. He tries to be the big harmless bear of the family, but it’s kinda hard when his cash register head is the scariest out of everyones, with it being a bit mangled and all. Wanting to stand out among his two brothers, my Father Edwin had his head replaced with a lightbulb, but due an accident that still to this day nobody knows the true story of, his neck and adapter were horribly disfigured, stitching covering every inch of it. To hide that gruesome sight, he wears a type of cloth that drapes down from the rim of the bulb to his shoulders, since he doesn’t have a base for his bulb.

Mother’s side is known much less for their success, and more for their strange hobbies. Both of her parents never could hold down a stable job because they were too busy with their crazy antics. Gramma loves collecting spoons, so much so that she will break into people’s homes or take out loans for plane tickets to get her hands on strange or extravagant cutlery. Based on what I’ve heard, she even managed to get her hands on a spoon used by the late Callum Crown. Granpa isn’t as extreme as his wife, but he does have a keen interest in music boxes. The family tree going back from Mom’s side gets a bit hard to keep track of once you get to great-grandparents because they had just vanished one day from their homes. Whether it was just them going off the grid or something more, nobody knows what happened to them. Other than Mom’s brother, Uncle Berry, that side of the family is pretty small, and unlike her sibling, Mom is the quietest and reclusive person to exist in her small bloodline. She has a lightbulb as a head alongside her husband, the glass being clouded with smooth bumps covering every surface of the bulb, her base being white with a tinge of pink. I’ve heard stories that she didn’t have a lightbulb originally, and that the transition was against her will. I glance over at Craig as I ponder this.

While everyone was talking to each other about their lives and good fortune, the whole congregation of family slowly settled down and moved to find a seat at the large dining table. I follow Craig over to a set of two empty chairs and sit down beside him. Uncle Berry burst through the door just in time to grab a seat before everyone else sat down. The last bit of commotion is hushed by a glass being chimed with a spoon. Looking toward the noise, I see that my Father is standing and calling for attention. He coughs before speaking, his voice very rough.

“Greetings to you all! Before we all sit back and dine on our chef’s most prized dishes, I want to thank you for making the drive out here, I know it’s a bit out of the way.” He chuckles, coughing violently between gasps. “All pleasantries aside, dig in.” He sits back down, helping himself to the food arriving on silver platters. Looking up from his plate, he eyes me, seemingly unhappy with me being here. I begin to get a sinking feeling as everyone else begins to gather food onto their plate. I didn’t want to be here to begin with, especially now. I look over to Craig who is being very picky about what he puts onto his plate.

“Why did you invite me?” I whisper to him, trying to distract myself by putting at least some food on my plate.

“Because I knew Dad wouldn’t, and also because I wanted to talk to you.” He replies without looking at me. “There are some thi-” Craig is cut off from Father speaking up.

“So, Craig, still on path for completing college, I assume?”

“Of course, sir. Top of my class, as always.” Craig says, his voice becoming more monotone.

“Good to hear. Greg, what have you been doing with your life?” I look up, a bit surprised. Was that annoyance in his tone? Or pity? I am about to speak, but Father continues. “Wait, don’t tell me, wasting it like you did with your pathetic friends from high school? Are you even trying to apply to a university?” Save for his roughness, his voice was relatively calm. What the hell was he trying to do? The whole table went silent, and Craig looked uneasy. I set down my fork, anger rising in my chest.

“What the hell is your problem?” I retorted.

“I could ask the same question. Are you trying to soil the family name? Do you even have a job?”

“No, but that's only because-” He cuts me off again.

“Oh so you're out smoking dope in some shitty apartment? Or, God forbid, attending those wretched parties full of junkies and hipsters? Where the hell did you even get that suit?” I start to speak, but I start to fumble with my words, stuttering on every sound. Everyone was staring at me, all because Father wanted to… what? Chastise me? Throw shade? “Hm? Did I hit the head on the nail?”

“Is this because I didn’t want to be what you wanted t-to shape me as? What the hell are you trying to do?!” I look directly at Craig, who averts my gaze. I return my ‘eyes’ back to Father. 

“Nothing, just wanted to see if you’ve changed at all. It’s apparent you still can’t handle pressure nor can be successful in any aspect.” 

“Edwin, knock it off, this is extremely immature!” Bill stands up, furious with his brother’s accusations.

“Oh, so you're going to defend the failure? Not surprising coming from you.” Bill wanted to argue back, but he just sat back down in defeat.

“I’m not a failure!” I shout at him. My bulb begins to get bright with anger. “You just failed as a father!” He stands up abruptly, seemingly furious with me, his bulb brightening as well. Everyone at the table seemed scared.

“Try me, you leech!” His coughs take over for a moment. “No wonder you ended up in an orphanage! You and your rotten heritage!” 

“If I’m so horrible,” I point directly at Craig, “then explain to me why your actual son attends raves on a weekly basis and pretends to be so perfect! Your little golden boy, who fucking gambles and probably snorts cocaine! Why is he so special?” I begin to choke up, my heart crying out for the tears that will never be able to form rivers down my face, never be able to tell other people I need comfort. Craig looked flabbergasted.

“This isn’t true, h-he’s just trying to make himself look better.” Craig says, a wavering of embarrassment in his tone. I stop, staring at him.

“Do I need to prove my point any further? Get off of my property, you scum.” Everyone at the table looked extremely uncomfortable, and Berry looked uncertain of what to do. I look around the table, then back to Craig. I want to run, I want to cry, I want to show my so-called Father what I felt nearly every single day. My own brother was leaving me in the dust again, and for what, his reputation?. I cry out, but no tears flow, I stagger back, anger and misery tugging at every fiber of my being. My bulb was the brightest it has ever been, so bright, I could feel the tension in my muscles. I start to march over to Edwin, but halfway there I hear sputtering, and smell smoke.

“Greg!” I hear Craig call out as my bulb explodes. The world goes dark and quiet, but I can still feel. My chest hurts, and I can’t breathe. I feel the floor meet my side as I fall down, along with multiple pairs of hands on me. I begin to twitch, and my chest gets tighter, more painful. I cry out, but I hear nothing, only the unresponsive quiet. I feel the world spinning, I stumble again, and then, I feel pain. I feel cold.

I feel nothing.


End file.
